The earliest memory I have of intuition kicking in with undeniable clarity happened when I was about nine years old.
I was sitting at the office desk in our home as my mom came in from work, chatting with me as she settled down and lit a cigarette (it was the 90s, after all). The phone between us rang, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a thought appeared in my mind: “Peter died.”
KNOWING BEFORE IT HAPPENED
Peter was my stepdad’s best friend, a constant presence during holidays and family gatherings. The idea that he had died was absurd—there was no logical reason for such a thought. Yet, there it was, clear as day. As I wrestled with this sudden notion, my mom answered the phone. It was my stepdad, and within seconds, she gasped. Moments later, she hung up, came over to where I was sitting, and said, “I have some bad news. Peter died.”
I was devastated—not just by Peter’s death but by the overwhelming realization that I knew about it before anyone told me. The phone had barely rung, and yet I knew. This experience was just one of many instances where my intuition, or psychic ability, delivered information that I wasn’t consciously seeking.
These early experiences were both bewildering and overwhelming. Often, I would know things before they happened or as they were unfolding, only to talk myself out of believing what I had sensed. Yet time and again, I was proven right. The more connected I was to someone, the more detailed the information I received. But without guidance, this deep sensitivity to the world around me became a burden, especially in the context of difficult relationships.
The paradox of being psychic
In one particularly tumultuous relationship with my twin flame, I could sense every infidelity. I knew when he was with someone else, even when there was no outward sign. The weight of these insights, coupled with the chaos of my own emotions, was overwhelming. My psychic sensitivity extended beyond personal relationships—I could feel the emotions of strangers on the street, sense the pain of others, and even predict events in the lives of people I barely knew.
For example, in 2014, I had a dream about someone’s father having a stroke. It was a vague, unsettling dream that I tried to dismiss. Later that day, as I sat back-to-back with my boss at work, his phone rang. Without any logical basis, I thought, “His dad had a stroke.” Moments later, my boss hung up the phone and told our head boss, “I need to leave. My dad just had a stroke.”
This is the paradox of being psychic—receiving information that is often not immediately useful and can be overwhelming if not managed properly.
THE QUIET VOICE
As you can imagine, living with this heightened sensitivity made my life feel chaotic and exhausting, especially before I began to consciously work with my intuition. I was constantly bombarded with feelings and knowledge I hadn’t asked for, and my dreams were filled with battles I didn’t fully understand. Add to that the immense grief of losing my best friend and childhood love in a car accident in 2009, and the emotional turmoil of detangling from a toxic twin flame relationship, and my life became unstable at best, self-destructive at worst. I turned to drugs, alcohol, and other forms of self-medication in a desperate attempt to numb the intensity of it all.
However, amidst all this chaos, there was a small, quiet voice within me that pushed me towards self-preservation and healing. This voice, though barely audible at times, was my intuition guiding me forward, even when I didn’t recognize it as such. One day, while house-sitting for a friend after a particularly intense relationship fallout, I stumbled upon a book called Codependent No More. I sat down to skim through it and ended up reading the entire thing in one sitting. That was a pivotal moment in my healing journey.
From that day forward, I began to take ownership of my healing and my gifts. I joined a 12-step program that saved my life and introduced me to the basics of spiritual practice within a supportive community. I started seeing an intuitive guide who helped me hone my psychic abilities, transforming them from a source of overwhelm into a tool for personal and spiritual growth. I also sought out various healers and practitioners who helped me address the physical and emotional pain I had been carrying for so long.
Through this process, I began to see the interconnectedness of spirituality and healing. I realized that my psychic abilities weren’t a burden but a gift that, when properly managed, could be a source of strength and guidance. I learned how to regulate my nervous system, set healthy boundaries, and distinguish between what was mine to carry and what belonged to others.
Today, my life looks and feels vastly different. My spiritual journey has led me to a place of stability and peace that I once thought was unattainable. My nervous system is more regulated, and I’ve embraced my intuitive gifts without fear. I’ve learned to empathize with others without absorbing their pain, allowing me to be of greater service to those around me.
Of course, life still presents challenges, but my response to them has changed dramatically. Where I once spiraled into despair, I now move through difficulties with a sense of detachment and clarity. I know what’s mine and what isn’t, and I no longer shy away from the magic of my intuitive abilities. This is the result of years of spiritual practice, healing, and the integration of spirituality and therapy—a powerful combination that has allowed me to heal my deepest wounds and step fully into my power.
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